


the art of never staying still (and the magic of the drumroll)

by pentagemini



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, Romance, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17382392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentagemini/pseuds/pentagemini
Summary: They meet at a wedding.(“No! No buts. No phone numbers, no emails, not even names. We can leave tonight and have it be perfect, untarnished, and it will be a memory we’ll never forget.”).





	the art of never staying still (and the magic of the drumroll)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is loosely based on the 13th episode in the first season of how i met your mother, "drumroll, please"!  
> i hope you like it!!

They lock eyes from across the wedding hall. It’s unexpected, not only the gaze that holds Soonyoung in place, but also his sharp intake of breath. All it takes for Soonyoung to rise from his seat and walk over to the stranger’s table is the soft and shy smile he sends Soonyoung’s way.

“Are you alone?”

The stranger exhales what seems to be a breath he’s been holding, and nods. “Are you?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Soonyoung asks, drawing out the chair next to the guy and taking a seat. His hair is curly on its ends, his glasses round, gold-rimmed and thin, and his cheeks suddenly pink with a light rosy shade that matches extraordinary well with the yellow, pink and white flowers on the table. He’s holding a champagne glass in his hand, his fingers long, slender and pretty.

“I wouldn’t say that it is,” the stranger replies, taking a small sip from his bubbly drink. “You look like the type of guy who has a date.”

There’s no doubt in Soonyoung’s mind that this guy is way, way out of his league, but there’s also no harm in trying. “Are you flirting with me?” Soonyoung smiles, tilting his head. A second later, his smile vanishes and he sighs. “Actually, nevermind. I’d rather stay oblivious and think that you are,” he adds, his sigh turning into a cheeky grin. The stranger laughs and Soonyoung’s stomach feels warm and bubbly, but he can’t blame it on the champagne.

“Even if I _was_ flirting, it wouldn’t matter,” the stranger says, looking at Soonyoung. “I never hook-up at weddings. It’s like a rule,” Soonyoung’s palms feel sweaty already, for none of the right reasons. “All these romantic moments, as great as they are, aren’t real,” he says. “It’s being at a wedding that makes you believe they are, but they’re not,” he continues, inching closer to Soonyoung, like letting him in on a secret.

Soonyoung hums. “Should I not flirt, then?”

“That’s not what I said,” the guy smiles, radiant yet soft. “Flirting is harmless. Think about it this way: we spend the evening together, having a blast—”

“You bet your ass we will,” Soonyoung interrupts.

“But when we wake up the next morning, it’s nothing but awkwardness. The magic fizzles out faster than this cheap champagne.” (Soonyoung didn’t think it’s cheap.) This guy has a point. Soonyoung can recall more than a single occurrence this exact storyline happened to him, and it always leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“So what do we do? Is there a solution? A way to avoid the unnecessary embarrassment?” Soonyoung asks, giving the stranger a hopeful simper.

“I think I have one,” the guy moves even closer.

Soonyoung’s cheeks redden at their new proximity. “I’m all ears.”

“But first, I think I should let you know we won’t be sleeping together tonight.”

“Now _that_ went through one ear and out the other.”

The guy laughs again, making Soonyoung feel more at ease at the lightness in which he takes his jokes.

“We can have a wonderful night together, in this big romantic wedding,” he begins, again like confiding in him. “Cutting out the part that always screws it up. The next day,” he explains to a repeatedly nodding Soonyoung. “We can dance, have a great time, and then when it’s over,  never see each other again.”

“But—”

“No! No buts. No phone numbers, no emails, not even names. We can leave tonight and have it be perfect, untarnished, and it will be a memory we’ll never forget.”

Soonyoung takes a deep breath, pressing his lips together. “Wow. Okay. I think I can get into that,” he nods his head appreciatively. “Does that mean we need fake names?”

“Umm, you can call me Florian,” the guy beams.

“Okay. Pleased to meet you, Florian,” Soonyoung offers. “I’m… Prince Charming,” Florian laughs. “This is kind of exciting, actually—”

Suddenly, a hand slaps Soonyoung’s shoulder numerous times. “Soonyoung, Soonyoung, Soonyoung, look! They have a chocolate fountain and marshmallows to dip them in!” Seokmin calls happily, his smile bigger and wider than ever. “See you later. You know where to find me.”

Soonyoung sighs, shaking his head while Florian laughs quietly. “So, I’m Soonyoung.”

“Wonwoo,” he smiles. “But no last names!”

“No last names,” Soonyoung agrees.

—

The wedding is Mingyu’s and Jihoon’s.

Since they agreed on having the memory of tonight untarnished—even though with every passing minute, Soonyoung regrets he agreed to this deal in the first place—and to not exchange any _real_ information about themselves, Soonyoung can’t even ask Wonwoo how he knows the grooms. It’s a bit of a sticky situation, tricky and somewhat relentless; having to loophole around questions and being forced to give vague answers. Regardless of that, they seem to hit it off pretty well—the conversation still flows, and the electricity in the air is undeniable. Wonwoo is simply gorgeous, when he smiles and when he laughs and when his nose scrunches up at Soonyoung’s jokes. He’s witty, funny, a great dancer and a great date.

Soonyoung never expected to have this much fun an hour ago. Maybe Wonwoo is right, and it’s wedding goggles that make everything seem a thousand times more romantic than it actually is; but it doesn’t make Soonyoung’s irrefutable attraction to Wonwoo any less poignant. He felt it when he first laid eyes on him and he feels it now, only stronger and more evident having spoken and spent time with Wonwoo.

The magic Soonyoung feels is real enough for him to keep going. “You’re quite the dancer,” Wonwoo tells him. If they _didn’t_ agree on having the perfect, unruined-by-reality-night, Soonyoung would tell Wonwoo that he’s right, because Soonyoung _is_ a dancer. Instead, he thanks him and reciprocates the sentiment, adding a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“I love dancing,” he also says, because it’s true and it doesn’t take away from their deal. “Always loved dancing, since I was a kid. I could never stay still. It’s magic, too, much like your ridiculous plan,” he teases, nudging Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo chuckles, shaking his head at Soonyoung.

“Let’s take a walk,” Wonwoo suggests.

And they do. They stroll through the endless corridor of the hotel’s floor where the wedding takes place, peeping inside open-doored rooms, sneaking around. They go outside, where a tunnel path of beautiful, fragrant and colorful flowers loop around an arch. “It’s beautiful,” Soonyoung says in awe, gently touching the flowers at his side.

Wonwoo nods, smiling. “I love these,” he says. “Violets.”

“Impressive,” Soonyoung acknowledges. “How do you know?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth to speak, then pauses, hesitant. “I just like flowers,” he ends up saying, quiet, averting his gaze from Soonyoung. “My mom did, too. I guess I know because of her,” the sound of Wonwoo’s voice is smaller now, less flirty and confident, more honest, real. He hums, tilting his head to the side while they stand in place, both caressing the violets softly. Without any warning, Wonwoo takes Soonyoung’s hand and links their fingers together, alleviating a smile. “I know where we should go next.”

Trying his hardest not to focus on the hand holding his, Soonyoung raises his eyebrows. “Lead the way.”

Wonwoo takes them to one of the smallest rooms they’ve seen on their stroll earlier, and still, it’s huge. A piano sits on the right side, paintings and plants and flowers decorate its entirety, as well as two large windows on one wall. Copper-colored silk drapes hang, tied together in a knot on each of the windows, and two extravagant chandeliers suspend from the ceiling, their crystals cut-glass and shining bright, illuminating the room. Soonyoung needs to stop and process everything, but he can’t, because Wonwoo’s already dragging him inside and taking a seat on the red-padded stool in front of the piano.

Once seated, Wonwoo releases Soonyoung’s hand from his. It’s alarming how quickly Soonyoung misses the feeling. “I wish I knew how to play something other than _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ ,” Wonwoo sighs. “Do you play?”

If tonight wasn’t what it is, Soonyoung would tell Wonwoo his mother and father forced him to take piano when he couldn’t stay still. He would tell him all about how after five years of weekly lessons, he had had enough, and how one day he ran all the way to his sister’s ballet class and begged the teacher to let him have a spot. He was eleven years old.

“A bit,” he tells him instead. On their own, his fingers start dancing on the white and black keys, playing a melody Soonyoung hadn’t heard in years. He never hated playing the piano, he just loved (the idea of) moving to the music more than being the one orchestrating it.

When Soonyoung is done, Wonwoo puts a hand on his heart and shakes his head. “Magic.” They laugh. “Can you teach me something?” The question makes Soonyoung turn his head to take a better look at him.

Soonyoung doesn’t know why, but something is tugging at his heart. “I know exactly what,” Soonyoung plays the notes and Wonwoo follows his finger movements. Wonwoo’s fingers are slower than Soonyoung’s but they aren’t less skillful, and he learns fast, making it work. Sometimes he slips up, but Soonyoung grabs the opportunity for them to touch hands again, placing his fingers on top of Wonwoo’s and pressing the keys together.

After a few tries, Wonwoo plays it again, smoothly. “You’re good,” Soonyoung dotes on him, kind of proud. Or maybe just smitten.

“Thank you,” Wonwoo says softly, a smile forming at the sides of his lips. “And thank you. Now I know how to play two songs,” he turns to look at Soonyoung. There are mere inches between them now. Soonyoung feels a tug at his chest again, like it’s harder to breathe. It would be painfully easy to kiss Wonwoo right now.

Like reading his mind, “We can’t kiss,” Wonwoo says quietly, his eyes fixated on Soonyoung’s lips just the same.

“Boo.”

“If we kiss, this becomes real, and the spell is broken.”

Soonyoung pouts. “A kiss can’t spoil the magic, Wonwoo.”

In response, Wonwoo shakes his head. “But we can have the best part,” it’s as if Wonwoo is trying to convince himself, too. “The moment that leads up to the kiss. Right before the lips touch.”

“The drumroll,” Soonyoung whispers.

“Let's stick to the drumroll,” Wonwoo moves closer. Their noses are almost touching, an inch separating their lips. He can hear and feel Wonwoo breathing, but they don’t kiss. They stay still, eyes locked.

—

By the time Soonyoung leaves rehearsals the next day, he’s exhausted, but he still rides his bike all the way to the other side of town, to that all-organic supermarket that sells Seokmin’s favorite tea, only because Seokmin insists it’s the best for his throat and that it’s _crucial these days._ Soonyoung is placing his bike on one of the racks and fishes inside his bag for his keys when a bell rings and distracts him. It’s a girl, she’s walking inside a shop, and the door has a tiny bell dangling from the frame. It’s flower shop.

It’s a flower shop.

_Florians_

Soonyoung’s mouth falls. He takes his bike and leans them against the wall next the shop and rushes inside without locking them, hearing the bell ring again when the door closes behind him.

He doesn’t even look up when the bell rings, so Soonyoung takes a few more steps inside. The girl who just walked in is on his left side, looking at a bouquet of purple flowers.

“Excuse me, what are these?” the girl asks, picking up the bouquet.

Wonwoo looks up from his book. “Those—”, he sees Soonyoung. Wonwoo smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Those are Violets. I made it this morning,” Wonwoo gets up from his chair behind the counter and walks over to Soonyoung, standing in front of him. “I booked this wedding and ordered too much. Would you like to buy it for half price?” One step separates them.

Soonyoung was never good at staying still.

 

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to my best twin rani and my good friend jasmine for the help <3
> 
> even the shortest of comments is greatly appreciated!! thank you for reading!


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